


Is That All?

by Konfessor2U



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock being a brat, The chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konfessor2U/pseuds/Konfessor2U
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John sat in Sherlock's chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is That All?

**Author's Note:**

> For [Mika](http://astudyinshags.tumblr.com/) for being awesome as fuck. Thanks for making my day, I hope you enjoy this.

Sherlock stumbled out of the loo and bumped into the opposite wall, gracefully continuing on as if he hadn’t hit anything at all. He carried himself like he knew that he was walking perfectly straight, albeit, he wasn't. He didn’t get drunk often but they had just wrapped up a fantastically complicated case, and it was Lestrade’s birthday after all. John had dragged him down to the surprise party at the Met, which carried on late into the night with terrible karaoke and vodka mixers. Sherlock found that he was incredibly fond of vodka cranberry, and proceeded to drink about seven in the matter of a couple hours.

John sat slumped in Sherlock’s armchair and watched his flat mate sway where he stood in the middle of the living room. He looked positively disheveled. His typically pristine dark purple shirt was now untucked and wrinkled with a few more buttons undone than was usual.

And he just stood there, staring at John staring at him. John had to narrow his eyes to keep focus on Sherlock, one too many drinks for both of them. He cursed himself for getting drunk as well, and not being able to properly be amused by Sherlock’s drunkenness.

“Youz in my chair, John.” Sherlock slurred, waving a hand in the air.

John sat up a bit straighter and lifted his arms off the armrests, innocently looking down at the chair. “Wha? Oh yeah, guess I am.” He settled back into the leather and rolled his head on his shoulders, enjoying the loose, spinning feeling he got with each movement.

A quiet huff from Sherlock brought his attention back to the center of the room, and fuck if he didn’t look like the sexiest human being on the planet just then; his ruffled shirt and unruly hair, his easy smile and relaxed eyes. John knew Sherlock was attractive all the time, but right now there were no walls in between them, no facades. It was just the two of them, as they were.

“Well, I want to sit there.” Sherlock moped brilliantly with his hands on his narrow hips, expertly working his lower lip into more of a pout.

Not feeling like giving in to Sherlock’s requests as he usually does, John looked at him pointedly and stayed put, causing his flat mate to storm off into his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later having changed out of his dress shirt and trousers into a more comfortable t-shirt and pajama bottoms. _Shame, he knows what that shirt looks like on him,_ thought John.

Before he could even figure out exactly what was going on, Sherlock had stepped up onto the chair next to John’s legs and teetered for just a moment before regaining his balance and sitting on one of the armrests. John had to readjust and twist his torso to move his arm out of the way.

“Sher…Sherlock, what the hell?” Both of them remained too stubborn to move off the chair when there were at least six other options for sitting in the room. John looked up to Sherlock’s face which was a study of seriousness, and squirmed bit as he felt cool toes wriggle underneath his thigh.

A few minutes passed of Sherlock sitting triumphantly on the arm of his chair and John looking sorely defeated.

“You’re a fuckin’ berk.” John claimed affectionately.

Hints of a smile began to slowly creep onto both of their faces until they were giggling like mad with Sherlock doubled over and John’s head thrown back against the cushions. John collected himself before Sherlock and he simply sat there observing his flat mate, just watching him laugh and admiring the wrinkles around his eyes. It was seriously intoxicating, more so than the alcohol they had consumed earlier at the Met, and in an entirely different way. “Addictive” was the only word that came to John’s mind and he knew that he was done for.

He made his move when he wrapped warm fingers around Sherlock’s ankle and guided his leg to the space on the other side of the chair so that he was firmly sat in John’s lap facing him.

Sherlock let himself be manipulated into this position and hell, he probably wanted it to end up this way. He _was_  a master manipulator. He giggled as the doctor shifted his hips under him but quieted when he felt warm breath tickle his throat.

“Hello,” John whispered to his flat mate.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock rumbled as he settled his hands on the back of the chair on either side of John’s head.

“I guess that we’ll both have to sit in this chair.” John’s hands betrayed his reprimanding tone as they dragged up Sherlock’s thighs.

“Yes, it’s a shame really.” He didn’t mean it.

Their faces were centimetres apart now, so close that John could easily smell the alcohol that Sherlock had had that evening, but he didn’t really care. His hands finally came to rest on his flat mate’s hips and squeezed gently for encouragement.

“Come here, you.” John breathed as he waited for Sherlock to respond.

Sherlock’s mouth hovered above John’s for what felt like hours. Their breath mingled in between them and it was a heady, trance-like sort of feeling. John sat as still as he possibly could, Sherlock was staring at his mouth and it was starting to make him nervous, so he licked his lips to dispel the anxiety. In wetting his lips, he seemed to light a spark in Sherlock, whose gaze slid from his mouth to his dark blue eyes. John caught the trace of a smirk before their lips finally met, soft and even a bit tentative.

Sherlock pulled away slightly to adjust his angle and noticed that John was grinning.

“What?”

“You could’ve told me that it would only take a few drinks to get you to do that.”

Sherlock pouted again, knowing exactly what his deliciously full bottom lip did to John, and now John was too damn close to let it get away from him. He leaned in and gently sucked the lip into his mouth, smiled at the tiny moan he got in return, and continued to explore his mouth, slowly and deliberately.

It felt so good to have his hands on his detective at last. His arms wrapped around Sherlock’s middle, holding him close. His hands pushed up underneath the t-shirt to touch the unbelievably hot skin there with his bare hands. He could feel Sherlock’s long fingers joined at the back of his neck cradling him as they made out. Pressing his pelvis and torso closer to him, Sherlock returned his kisses with fervor, desperate, sweet and hot.

However, John moved away from his mouth, ignoring his friend’s whining, and instead nuzzled into his neck. Taking in a large lungful of air, he breathed in the scent of Sherlock; sweat from dancing at the party, the cigarette that he managed sneak in while away from John, spicy undertones from his cologne and aftershave, and something entirely Sherlock. It was a smell that permeated every material within 221B; home.

With a tiny, harmless nip to Sherlock’s neck, he pulled away from him, grinning.

“Finally,” John said, and the two of them sat in Sherlock’s chair, smiling goofily at each other and simply enjoy the company.

**Author's Note:**

> The first sentence of this makes me feel like Dr. Seuss, so it stays.


End file.
